Snorkeling in Japan

the thin stripes 

on a parrot fish 

paired with bludgeoning, 

bare coral, 

threaded by electric blue,  

thin fish  

is awe-inspiring 

because 

the turquoise caverns 

open up below my goggling goggles 

like waking eyes. 

The black urchin with spiked, countless arms 

makes me scream underwater; 

blue starfish mold affectionately  

to the rock wall.  

I am undivided  

in my attention to  

the black fleets.  

Silently, I watch them flap  

and do the same. 

I like to follow the gliding bodies, 

cutting water, 

down the canals 

between the hard blooming coral, 

until I happen on an eel 

waving like a paper thin  

zebra-striped reed 

in the grey cavern floor 

until the plant detaches  

and glides serpentinely below my face.  

I am frightened

by all this grandeur underwater. 

I am frightened by the fact that I can 

plunge my face obtrusively with my obtuse 

goggles and my black, snarling snorkel 

into this silent, untouchable world. 

I am perfectly alien. I do not belong.  

I can only breathe through this long black chain. 

they can slip by effortless rolling on a wave 

of their orange, blue, purple, green, tangerine fin